


reciprocal

by thir13enth



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, based off of tumblr headcanons, massages and combing hair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 03:14:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8605096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thir13enth/pseuds/thir13enth
Summary: but at the end of a long day, they relax in each other's arms.





	

**Author's Note:**

> based off [headcanons](http://ahumanintraining.tumblr.com/post/153113480622/shiro-who-melts-when-allura-massages-his-back-she) by @blacklion and @nonbinaryshiro on tumblr
> 
> they are the ones to thank for this. go send them some love.

He groans softly as her strong firm hands descend over his taut back.

It takes him a more than a moment to exhale — steady and slow  — amidst all the knots along his shoulder blades, but her soft voice reminds him to ease into the pain.

“Just _relax_ ,” she whispers, her words tickling the shell of his ear.

This has always been hard for him to do. Even at night — and _especially_ at night —  he struggles to rest because of his past, yet-still-present nightmares. He thinks much too much as he goes through his day, and he remembers a little bit more than he should and always when he doesn’t want to.

He falls asleep stiff, and he awakens even stiffer. The pain waxes and wanes, but the pain never actually goes away.

Sometimes the aches hurt more than the scars. 

They most certainly last longer, and at their worst, they most definitely keep him from moving, from training, from waking, from succeeding, from _doing any damn thing_ — so much more than the raised edges of his skin.

But under her touch, he melts. He drops his shoulders from his ears. He realizes just how many muscles he’s kept tense, and just how many conversations he’s kept un-quieted in his mind.

He breathes in, breathes out.

He shuts tight his eyes, and he lets loose his worries.

.

.

Her hair is already a nightmare to begin with — frazzled and frizzy, big and curly, thick and long — and a stressful day on the castle-ship most certainly doesn’t help.

He is patient, so patient. He parts her hair a million different ways and he doesn’t coerce the tangles of her hair to separate. He doesn’t use force. He waits and he works through her silver tresses in the same way he works through a hard problem or a sensitive conflict.

He doesn’t look at the hour. He treasures the sharing of the moment more than the spending of a minute, and he finds a variety of things to talk about, a variety of melodies to hum along to.

The ticks pass by fast, but his voice lengthens the time shared between them. He slows down the moments. He reminds her that yes,she _is_ in control of her life and that yes, she _can_ do what she tries her very hardest to do.

The days she feels like she hasn’t gotten a single thing accomplished, the days she feels she hasn’t made a single bit of impact, the days she feels she’s lost and can never get back to redeem her father’s legacy — she finds solace in sitting between his knees, leaning her back against him.

She breathes in, breathes out. 

She closes her eyes, and she opens her heart.


End file.
